


Wait For It

by SouthernContinentSkies



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Mystery Crossover Cameo, Silly, reference fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: General Allegre is persuaded to override a censorship decision of the Bureau of Cultural Decency, and allow the performance of a certain ancient theatrical work. Some people are inspired. Others regret this decision.





	Wait For It

**Author's Note:**

> The author regrets nothing, however. Just a silly little thing to get myself back into the swing of comedy as I transition back to A Wizard’s Tale.

General Allegre was not having a good day. It had begun badly (he had woken up in the middle of a dream, and spent several horribly confused moments wondering how he was going to defend the Emperor from the slug that had crawled into his ear), and had not yet improved. Traffic between his flat and HQ had been abysmal, owing to a five-groundcar accident on the Star Bridge. When he arrived at HQ, the air filtration system was malfunctioning, causing unpredictable backdrafts, odd smells, and the relocation of an entire battalion of analysts to the Annex in the basement of Ops HQ, from which less-secure location they were unable to access half their files. When Guy was finally able to step away from the mess to drink his damn coffee, the untimely interruption of an ensign caused him to spill it all over his second-best set of dress greens. Luckily, he kept a spare set in his office for just such an occasion, but the overall misfortune of the morning had in no way prepared him for the meeting in which he was currently imprisoned.

One of Guy’s least favorite parts of his new job, in comparison to his previous post as a Section Head, was the sharp increase in the amount of time he was required to devote to external interaction. As Head of Komarran Affairs, he had of course liaised with the Imperial Councillor, his government apparatus, and various Komarran officials as necessary - but these were all, ultimately, Barrayaran subjects, and subject to the authority he himself had represented. He couldn’t necessarily give them _orders,_ exactly, depending on their particular position - but he could, and did, loom in their general direction for emphasis. 

Back in Vorbarr Sultana, on the other hand, he sometimes had occasion to wrangle with _galactics._ Not that he was provincial; it wasn’t their habits he minded, merely their entirely external chain of command. As a management technique, he vastly preferred efficient intimidation of his subordinates to the kid-glove handling required by these foreign diplomatic interactions. To make matters worse, the topic of this particular meeting was one of his least favorite: Why Barrayar Is Censoring Your Favorite Galactic Cultural Materials This Time.

He had done a rotation in the Bureau of Cultural Decency on Komarr, during his orientation there, but the usual staff-level tools were useless for this sort of conversation. Apparently, “because I said so” was not a politically acceptable response to an official diplomatic request, and “because it is our policy” broke down at the upper levels of leadership, i.e., him. 

Usually it was the Betans that were the most trouble in this regard; every new ambassador seemingly had to test the limits of Barrayaran censorship in order to believe it for themselves. At this point, Guy practically had his stock rebuttal memorized (“First of all, Your Excellency, we don’t _have_ a constitution...”). 

On this occasion, however, the problem was not the ideological condescension of Beta Colony, but the cultural condescension of Old Earth. Ambassador Avesarala apparently had an interest in ancient North American theatrical performance, and had personally selected one of her favorites as a candidate for the Imperial Opera’s Galactic Exchange Season. Unfortunately, it was based on entirely inappropriate subject matter, and the Cultural Decency officers assigned to the casefile had quite rightly rejected it, which prompted the Ambassador to go over their heads to complain to Guy. 

Thus this meeting. The Ambassador had run through her softball persuasive attempts already, and was now trying out a broader kitchen-sink approach. Guy was employing a considerable portion of his extensive counter-interrogation training in an effort not to sigh. 

“But it can't be seditious - it’s history!” the Ambassador was saying earnestly. 

Guy’s eye twitched, despite himself. He had had far too many late night discussions with General Doctor Galeni to find that sentence remotely convincing. Besides, this was Barrayar; history was what sedition became if you were lucky enough to live through it. Item one: Dorca’s Unification. Item two: Yuri’s Civil War. “Item three: Vordarian’s Pretendership” was only off the list because Vordarian had lost. Not that he could have that debate with a galactic diplomat. Not that, as Chief of Imperial Security, he could have that debate with anyone at all (except, apparently, the Komarran Head of Komarran Affairs - but if anyone knew how to speak truth at only the appropriate times, it was Duv). 

“I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but we have clearly delineated standards for acceptable cultural materials, and I’m afraid this performance would fail many of them. We can, on certain occasions, overlook a few minor infractions in light of a more positive holistic evaluation of the material -” The Ambassador’s brows lifted hopefully. “- but I’m afraid that, after personally reviewing the script, such an exception cannot possibly apply here.” 

The Ambassador looked disappointed. “I do understand your position, General. I appreciate that even on Barrayar, one must uphold the letter of the law. But would it be possible to explain precisely which standards the play fails? Purely in the spirit of increased intercultural understanding, of course. I’m afraid your subordinates have been most unhelpful in this regard.” 

Guy just bet. The Cultural Decency officers had far too much experience with reflexive negotiators to engage with an entity ultimately above their pay grade. Sadly, there was no pay grade above his, so he would have to play along. 

“Certainly, Ambassador,” he said, rifling through the flimsies on his desk for a single sheet printed with very small type. “The following is an illustrative but nonexhaustive list of the relevant sections of the Regulations of Cultural Decency, Fourth Edition, violated by this script.” He cleared his throat. “Section 2.1, depicting violent overthrow of a monarchy in a positive light; Section 2.34, characterizations of monarchical government as inherently oppressive; Section 2.34.3, holding up a monarch as a figure of ridicule; Section 8.5, explicit depictions of dueling -” 

“Oh, _really,_” interjected the Ambassador. “It’s a condemnation of the dueling! His son dies! He dies! It’s deliberately tragic!” 

“Indeed, Your Excellency,” said Guy, in what he hoped were soothing tones. “The depictions of dueling are just the sort of thing we could overlook if the rest of the script weren’t, frankly, a glorification of democratic revolution, which, respectfully, we really cannot have on Barrayar. Even on a stage.” 

Instead of looking disappointed, the Ambassador leaned forward in his chair, a disturbingly familiar glint in her eye. Guy groaned inwardly. He recognized that expression from Vorkosigan’s face, just before he persuaded Guy against his will to justify something ridiculous. Last time, it had been an expense report for the transportation of a live cheetah and a cryofrozen avocado from Jackson’s Whole to Zoave Twilight. The worst of it was that as a Lord Auditor, Vorkosigan didn’t actually need Guy’s sign-off for things like this at all; he could submit his own expense reports straight to the Imperial Treasury. Guy could only conclude that the hyperactive little bastard had made a hobby out of shredding ImpSec’s budget under Illyan, and was having too much fun to give it up. 

“Of course, General!” said the Ambassador, with overtones of “opening gambit” that did not alleviate Guy’s suspicions, at all. “I am glad to find you a man of such plain speaking; it fills me with hope for the future relationship between Earth and Barrayar. It would of course be inappropriate of me to attempt to proselytize to your citizens in ways that contradict your fundamental Barrayaran values, and indeed that is not at all my intention. In fact, I deliberately avoided more inflammatory renditions of similar historic material in the hopes of reaching a compromise. Instead, I very carefully selected a piece that showcases not only a shining moment in North American history, but also glorifies several particularly Barrayan values!” 

“...I see,” said Guy, who did not see, and who was positively dreading the forthcoming attempt at enlightenment. Galactic politicians might not hold a candle to the Vor in terms of twisty assassination plots, but they more than made up for it with their capacity for spin and doublespeak, undoubtedly the result of so much exposure to their profligate press. 

“Oh, yes,” continued the Ambassador, now firmly in her stride. “To begin with, this is ultimately a story of resistance to an oppressive, _foreign_ empire - surely a foundational Barrayaran narrative. It also features a brave young man of humble origins, determined to improve his lot in life through military service - again, I am given to understand that this is practically a Barrayaran cliche! Furthermore…” 

The Ambassador droned on for several more minutes, if “drone” were the right verb for someone so inexplicably animated. Guy had never seen so much exuberance in the cause of ancient theater. 

Finally, he held up a hand. He had had enough, and also an idea. It was not quite true, after all, that there was no pay grade above his; there was, in fact, exactly one. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t dream of bothering the Emperor with such a trivial matter, but this was clearly a pet cause of the Ambassador’s, and the renewal of their Memorandum of Consular Understanding with the Earth Local Space Authority was coming up. Possibly the Residence, or the Ministry of Commerce, might consider one unwise cultural performance an acceptable price for lower orbital fees. 

“Ambassador,” he said quellingly. “Your arguments are persuasive, but I’m afraid that even I cannot authorize such a potentially inflammatory production on my own recognizance. I must appeal this matter to a higher authority.” 

The Ambassador’s eyes widened in pleased anticipation. “You mean ..?” 

“I shall inform you of the ultimate disposition of your case when it arrives,” said Guy firmly. “In the meantime, I could not possibly comment.” 

To his relief, the Ambassador considered this evasive promise entirely satisfactory, and left him to his second, more successfully-consumed cup of coffee shortly thereafter. 

When the reply from the Residence reached him, it was a very short message, appearing without signature on his comconsole. The text of the note read merely, “Let’s see what happens.” Guy raised his eyebrows, sighed, and switched over to the voice connection to contact the Ambassador.

\--- 

Three months later, the Barrayaran premier of _Hamilton_ opened in Vorbarr Sultana to thunderous applause. The only complaints were from the predictable isolationists; the head of the Bureau of Cultural Decency, who was forced to authorize overtime to deal with the resulting commentary; and, very privately, the Emperor himself, who sent Guy an unsigned flimsy reading merely “mea culpa,” along with a copy of Lord Auditor Vorkosigan’s rejected request to organize a Barrayaran Coast Guard. 

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I am proud of my word count.


End file.
